The Importance of Storytelling in Turbulent Times

These are turbulent times. Aren’t they? I mean, we have but to scroll through our favorite social media feeds, or peruse our favorite blogs to feel it. It’s a bit odd, though. Violent crime is at a decades-long low, unemployment is below the post-WW2 average, and by most measures the economic recovery continues. Heck, even gas and milk are relatively cheap.

And yet, we all feel it. Terrible events continue to happen. Dark forces exist, and the very horror and terror engendered by their words and deeds is their tool. Resentment and anger are brewing out there. Resentment and anger that foster fear and hatred. Those who prey on, and benefit from, such emotions are busy fomenting their momentum.

Among my writing friends of late, I feel a palpable sense of woe. It’s understandable. Writers are generally smart and tuned in to the world around them. Writers are often adept at considering events in historical context.

Atop all of that, writers are generally sensitive souls. We have to be. It’s part of the gig. My friend and WU Editor-in-Chief Therese Walsh once explained it to me this way. Therese believes we writers have thinner skins because we need them to absorb the world at large, not just to accurately portray its events and its people, but to convey them authentically on the page to others. The raw side of having that thinner skin is that we perhaps feel the negatives—the hurts and pains—more easily, have less defense against them, and have a more difficult time recovering from what we’ve absorbed.

And let’s face it: these days there’s plenty of negativity—plenty of hurt and pain—to go around.

Big Sky Perspective

“The night sky is an excellent corrective to our self-importance. Everything superficial falls away. Vanity disappears. Politics, culture, and fashions of every sort fade to insignificance. It’s just us, alone beneath the infinite, as we’ve been since the beginning.” ~Author Jerry Dennis (from his essay, The Night Country)

My wife came home the other day, and had to ask me three times if anything was wrong. It was a gorgeous summer day, and I was grilling our dinner. I had to look up at the deep blue twilit sky to realize it myself: No—there’s nothing wrong. I mean, there’s always something wrong, right? I’d spent hours that day absorbing the woes of the world (mostly passed along though the online and media lens). I needed to step back and gain some perspective.

We writers know as well or better than anyone that so much of life is about perception and context. And about choices. I understand that most of us are in our heads a lot, and that many of us (including me) struggle with self-doubt. But when you think about it, we purposefully present our characters with fundamental misbeliefs and limited perception, all in the name of increasing conflict and tension. We ought to be in a good position to discern our own such issues.

And I believe it’s vital that we storytellers seek to look beyond the turbulence of the times, that we try to see beyond inundation to a cogent sorting of the meaningful. But in order to do it, we must strive to find and maintain our “Big Sky Perspective.” After all, times like these are when stories are needed the most.

Contributing to the Collective

“The purpose of the storyteller is not to tell others how to think, but to give them the questions to think upon.” ~Brandon Sanderson

“Perhaps it’s how we’re made; perhaps truth best reaches us through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart.” ~Stephen R. Lawhead

Stories matter. You can take it from a scientific angle, as WU story guru Lisa Cron teaches—that “…we think in story. It’s hardwired in our brain. It’s how we make strategic sense of the otherwise overwhelming world around us.” Or you can simply be satisfied that it’s your best means of relating to and interfacing with the world. (It is, isn’t it? I mean, you chose to write fiction for a reason, right?) Stories inform our worldview, and create a common basis for our interconnectedness. Our stories define us. And it’s what we share that defines our humanity.

And so, we as storytellers matter—particularly during turbulent times.

Now I’m not suggesting that you seek to sermonize or politicize your fiction. Nor am I suggesting that every story has to address the wrongs of the world or to delve into the meaning of life. And I don’t think that you need to write a bestseller, or even have a vast audience, to have an impact. Remember to keep that Big Sky Perspective. It’s not about ego, or even about us as individuals. What I’m talking about is human connectivity. It’s about contributing to a collective. It’s about sharing, and—in some small way—helping to define our humanity.

A Covert Communion Conduit

“What is writing? Why, it’s telepathy, of course.” ~Stephen King

Think of the power we storytellers wield. If we do our jobs well, we offer respite. An exciting, comforting, or arousing ride, a hearty laugh or a good cry. We offer transportation from the monotony of a daily grind. And it’s not just escape we offer. At our best we offer our fellows solace, and renewal.

Beyond all of that, through our characters we are allowed access to our readers’ cerebral cortex—the part of the brain where reasoning, emotional processing, and problem solving take place. Reading fiction is a chance for each of us to slip into the skin of someone else, to experience something innovative—often things we might not otherwise experience, and might even hope to never need to. Through such vicarious experience, readers are offered an opportunity for evaluation, of themselves and of the world around them. Using our reason, our emotional processing, and our problem solving capabilities, when we read we compare and contrast ourselves against a fictional character—how we might react, how we hope we would react, or even how we feel we should react to the experiences we encounter on the page. And, as Lisa says, it’s hardwired into our brains—we all hunger for such opportunities.

“The demonstration of character may almost be called the essence of persuasion.” ~Aristotle

Not to suggest that, through your characters’ actions, you will invariably persuade your readers to accept a viewpoint or change their beliefs. Merely telling someone to believe something almost never works. But showing them… now that can change the odds a bit (effective writing so often circles back to knowing when to show and not tell, doesn’t it?)

In other words, if we do our jobs well, our stories become a conduit for us to commune with our fellow human beings. By providing the stories we all hunger for, we are granted the gift of access to our readers’ system of evaluation. And it’s a precious gift—not to be taken lightly.

Pen-Wielder Power!

Ah, the power. Writers unite! Together we can rule the world! Muh-wah-ha-ha.

Seriously though, think of it. Isn’t it wonderful, having the power to transport someone to another place, to make them feel something—to offer catharsis or even a simple respite?

Keeping that Big Sky Perspective intact (remember, it’s not about each of us, it’s about all of us), it can get even better. If you can nudge even a handful of readers to consider their own views in a new light, to question their preconceptions or to perceive their personal dogma; if you can cause even a few to confront their fears in a more honest way; provoke just one of your fellow humans to renew their belief in the power of kindness and love over resentment and hate—well, isn’t that worthy of our diligent effort?

Of course it’s important that we, as writers, speak our truth, and that we keep touch with the pulse of the world. Social media are powerful tools for writers. But it’s important to remember that we are our own moderators of their use and consumption. And perhaps even more importantly, that we are never distracted from the most effective vehicle for the delivery of our truth. Storytelling is our super-power!

So, my powerful Pen-Wielders—what shall we do on the next dark day, when we’ve absorbed too much of our fellows’ woes? We could spent it on Facebook and Twitter, telling people what they should believe, absorbing even more of the detached dissent, and the occasional escalation and hostility the internet tends to engender. Or we could spend a greater share of our energy on our stories, showing our worldview through our characters, striving to make them worthy instigators of wholehearted contemplation.

Personally, I’m rooting for the stories. And I’m more hopeful for the world because of you. I look forward to our next communion.

Can you think of stories that changed your outlook? How? Are there aspects of your stories that you hope will instigate the wholehearted contemplation of your fellow humans? Let’s share the power of collective positivity in the comments.

In the sixth grade, Vaughn’s teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days polishing his epic fantasy trilogy.

Comments

When I was a teenager I read The Grapes of Wrath (thus certifying me as a total nerd). That book changed much of what I believed about that period in our history and probably set the first root of my distrust of government in place. Stories do, indeed, change beliefs.

Since I have found a home in the Kidlit market, I take this fact and the responsibility that comes with it very seriously. It is not the writer’s job to slam the reader with his “truth,” but to cause the reader to consider her own beliefs, look past all the elementary school explanations of the world. Reveal prejudices that they don’t even realize they possess. That’s a lot to hang on a guy with a keyboard. Think of it, JK Rowlings has influenced more kids than all the school teachers in North America combined (don’t beat me up, I’m speculating wildly here).

It’s funny you mention social media. I made a comment earlier this year that went something like “Oh good, it’s an election year. Let’s insult each other until everyone comes around to my way of thinking.” This statement, of course, caused me to look at my own posting history. Ouch. You may have noticed that I’m sitting out the social media fight this year.

As Jimmy Stewart said in Harvey: “I’ve tried being smart, and I’ve tried being pleasant. I prefer pleasant.”

Hey Ron, I hadn’t even considered the importance of story from a Kidlit perspective in writing this essay. Yes! And I’m with you, Rowling has reached more kids in a powerful way than any single teacher ever could.

Funny, I recently had occasion to consider the power of one of my formative stories. I volunteer at our little local library, and was shelving returned books when I came across Island of the Blue Dolphins. I’d really loved the story, and I know it’s one of the books that helped to make me an avid reader. Plus, I know it’s at least partly responsible for how I begged and pestered my parents for a dog (a battle I finally won – there have only been a few brief periods of doglessness for me since).

The library is far from busy this time of year (most resorters have returned to the city), so I promptly plopped down and read through the story. I’d forgotten how many powerful lessons there are in that story! Karana faces racism, ostracism, and the death of loved ones, and finds her way to self-sufficiency. But the most amazing thing, something I’d forgotten, relates to how she came to have her dog Rontu – how the feral pack had killed her brother, how she’d vowed to hunt and kill them all. How when facing the moment where she would finally gain her vengeance by killing the leader of the pack, she somehow finds compassion. She not only lets him live, but they become inseparable friends. So powerful! I came away with renewed respect, not just for this one story, but for a vital genre.

Thanks, Ron, for contributing to what is arguably the most important part of the storytelling world. After all, if we don’t interest kids in reading, we’ll soon run out of adult readers. And that would be tragic, indeed. Thanks, too, for contributing to the conversation. You’re always not only pleasant, but insightful and supportive.

Children’s writers bear a greater responsibility … I say this because I’m highly aware of how much books have shaped me. When I was asked to write a biography for a writing class, I inadvertently wrote about all the books that helped me become who I am. So here goes — Enid Blyton, Charles Dickens, Lloyd C. Douglas (the first adult novel I read was by written by him and I still re-read Magnificent Observation every so often). AJ Cronin (he made me want to become a physician/writer at the age of 12 after reading his memoir Adventures in Two Worlds), John Steinbeck, Thomas Hardy, Ayn Rand — all these I’ve read before the age of 20. More recently, I’m being molded by the saints themselves — Augustine, Aquinias, Alphonsus … my three favorite Teresas.

Vaughan, this is a wonderful essay and when I think about why I write, it’s to understand but it’s also to give a voice to those who don’t have one. And now I really must take the dog out …

Impressive list, Vijaya! No one could come away from those without more worldliness, and – perhaps even more importantly – empathy. I saw a study a while back about how reading engenders empathy, and I can’t think of a more worthy aspiration. Perhaps what the world needs now, is books, sweet books.

Hope you and the dog had a great walk – Gidget and I just got back as well. Thanks for a great comment, Vijaya!

I love that quote from The Night Country. As writers I believe we are allowed to glimpse the unspoken holy, the unknown vastness of all and translate those fragments of truth into our own personal interpretations of understanding.

These moments are worth all the mundane baggage we must penetrate, in order to pierce our own little pinholes of light through the Veil.

Hey B, Dennis writes a regular column that appears on the back page of Michigan Blue Magazine, and it’s always the first thing I read in every issue. He has a great voice, and he shares his truth in such a powerful and yet pleasing way. That Big Sky quote was the seed from which this essay sprouted.

Speaking of a powerful and pleasing voice. “These moments are worth all the mundane baggage we must penetrate, in order to pierce our own little pinholes of light through the Veil.” Bam. There can be no doubt, that’s my friend B. Love it, as I love most everything you write.

Glad to have set the wheels rolling. You are definitely a writer I’m looking forward communing with through your powerfully pleasing stories. Thanks, B!

You really spoke to me this morning, Vaughn! The Big Sky Perspective! What an important thing that is for everyone , but especially for writers…highly sensitive people acting as commenters on, and conduits for, the beauty and madness of our times. I have always been in awe of the way stories can address an issue obliquely, and yet have a head-on impact. I’m thinking of ‘Forrest Gump’, who’s life and the lives of those he loves are impacted by the madness of the sixties. And as a child, me falling in love with King Arthur,the idea of might for right and the notion of questing for miracles. And of course, LOTR, where the little ‘unimportant people’ end up in the end as heroes. Thanks for brightening my day!

Hi Susan, What an interesting and astute example Forest Gump is. He navigates the turbulence by remaining steadfastly true to himself, and to his mother’s simple lessons. And certainly the tale of King Arthur has survived the millennia for a reason – or should I say “reasons”? And speaking of a tale with abundant life lessons, I’m sure you might have by now gleaned that LOTR is at the center of my writing aspirations and journey.

I’m so glad I could brighten your day, as you so often brighten mine, and have done so again.

Milk is cheap? Where? Not in my neighborhood, but then in Liberal Town you can only find organic.

Seriously, though, this is a sweet post and sweetly written. Fiction does influence and even change readers. The evidence is in. And nothing persuades or changes us more than change itself when enacted by characters. Citizen Aristotle was right.

I don’t think of storytelling as night sky gazing so much as urgently embracing the mess and fear of our civilization and making sense of it. Having kept readers awake, we hope, we give them hope to help them sleep.

I went to college up near the Canadian border. On cold, cold January nights you could sometimes see the aurora borealis, God’s music played in magnificent silent streams of color. It is good to see the night sky and remember it, even better to feel its wonder.

Ha, perhaps there is an advantage to living in Erehwon (it’s nowhere, but backward)… Cheap milk!

Yes to urgently embracing the mess and fear! Perhaps my night sky-gazing is my way of girding myself for the challenge. And ah, the Northern Lights – nothing more awe-inspiring. It’s one of the little many things that make a northern winter worth tolerating.

Thanks for your kind praise, Benjamin, and for a lovely comment. Here’s to embracing this wonder-full writing life.

Vaughn, we are on the same sort of wavelength, I think. It’s been kind of a rough year for the world, hasn’t it? I was recently feeling rather despondent about the world myself and wrote a blog post that was sort of an effort to convince myself of the worthiness/non-futility of writing fiction in a world that needs so much in the way of physical help. I won’t link to it, as I find linking to one’s own work on someone else’s post to be on the tacky side. Anyway, you know where to find me. ;) I always appreciate your perspective.

I keep saying this: fiction is an underused way to get past the barriers that humans put up around their hearts and their brains.

Instead of demanding ‘diversity’ in characters, celebrate the times when a writer makes a diverse character (ie, someone different from you) so real it’s like putting on a second skin, and sitting right behind the character’s eyeballs looking out at the world from her point of view.

I truly needed this today, Vaughn. I spent yesterday listening to Lisa Cron’s TED talk concerning how we are wired for story–used it as a basis for my blog post: USING “STORY” TO SUPPORT FACTS, which was really my struggle against the proliferation of lies. Yes, turbulent times. And yes there is something wrong and yes there is nothing wrong. It’s a tug of the heart and the mind. It’s grabbing on to the joy–because it is there. Loved Therese’s words on thin-skinned writers–they explain a lot. Your post is a gift for me as I start my week. I will be rereading it. Thanks.

I read WU every day; and while I don’t always have the time or “thought-space” to comment, I wanted to today. Because I’ve been thinking about very similar things lately.

There are days when I hear about what goes on the world, and it HURTS. It bothers me, it discourages me. Then I go back to my WIP, which is set in a world with its own set of social issues, and I think, “This is why I’m doing this crazy thing called novel-writing. Not because I want to preach my beliefs or views to readers, but because I want to give them reason to think about the turbulence of our world in their own way.” I don’t know whether that intention comes across in my writing (yet – hopefully I will once my betas read it), but I hope it does.

As far as stories that changed my outlook… I actually loved reading Scott O’Dell’s books when I was young, especially his historical fiction for children, which was often about Native American and Pacific native tribes. Through them, I learned about cultures and races who were so different from me; and seeing his characters fight for survival, their homes, and their livelihoods… I don’t think I understood the impact his stories had on me then, until recently.

Thank you for writing this, Vaughn. Can’t wait to share this with my other writer friends. :)

I think I can speak for everyone at WU when I say that we all appreciate every reader. But I’m glad you found the time and made the effort today for this great addition to the conversation, Sara. On the day I refer to in the post, my chest actually ached, so I know what you mean when you say it hurts. And it can so easily go from distracting to discouraging. I wanted to write the post because I remembered that only *we* have the power to fight – to keep it from becoming discouraging. And that I really do believe ours is an important calling. You are not alone.

And you know what? I’m betting you’ll succeed in getting your readers thinking. Your sincerity shines through in this, and that’s the most important ingredient. That and perseverance will take you a long way toward earning a portal into your readers’ hearts and minds.

Hooray – another O’Dell fan. I was blown away by my recent reread. So glad I got that book when I did. He’s a big part of why I’m here, conversing with you. Thanks so much, and please continue to chime in here whenever you can!

Vaughn, yes, stories are the universal food—let’s keep serving them up. (Some are Pop Rocks and some are broccoli, but there’s usually something tasty across the whole of the table.) I was swept away by Hesse’s “Siddhartha” when I was 15, so much so that I had a magic-handed pal of mine paint the very last passages of the book in a lovely calligraphic script on the wall facing my bed, floor to ceiling. (No surprise that I was a weird kid.)

Here are those last passages, beginning with “He no longer saw…”—http://www.online-literature.com/hesse/siddhartha/12/

The words are an engulfing, almost-hallucinatory recitation of the interconnectedness of people, animals, places and time, an endless, ever-unfolding dance: pain, pleasure, the mundane, the transcendent. Stories, yes—they are all that.

[Note: my reading of these kinds of spiritually tilted materials did not prevent me from becoming an accomplished long-time shoplifter a short while later, but that, of course, is another story.]

Whoa, Tom – ambitious reading at 15. When I was that age, memorizing Cat Stevens’ lyrics was about as close as I got to “mystical connectivity.” In the true spirit of Siddhartha, we must embrace all parts of our former selves, right? And thus, that young shoplifter is but a part of the well-rounded being that became our wise and witty friend Tom. Quoth GoVaughnDa.

[No wonder you’re always stealing the show here.] Here’s to enjoying the pop-rocks and the broccoli, my friend.

Maybe we should try to discern what lessons these turbulent times are offering to teach us as individuals and bring those into our stories. Where Steven King says telepathy, I lean more toward thinking it is empathy -the ability to experience another’s feelings as our own. It takes a bit of sorting out to identify which feelings are ours. But I think it’s what makes our written characters so real to us. If we infuse that empathy into our writing, we have a shot at bringing our characters and stories to life for other people. Just a thought. Great topic, Vaughn!

Yes, Gretchen, we should seek what can we sort from it all. Because there’s always meaning to be found. And each of us will find a different facet of our shared humanity. And yes – empathy! It’s one of the greatest gifts of shared storytelling. Such wise insights. :-) Thanks for adding them, my friend.

As a Montana resident I appreciate the big sky each day. Loved the photo. A writerly hug to you, Vaughn, for in many ways your post felt like the same in my inbox. We are the world’s filter, absorbing the ills and joys around us, despite having our own, and reprocessing them in a different form.

The latest news crashes into our world as a thundering, life-taking explosion. As writers—and this is often true in fantasy—we slow down the delivery until it’s viewed as benign entertainment. That wolf and lion you’d never allow through your door becomes the puppy or kitten on the couch beside you. We infuse the experience with perspectives and empathy. We don’t preach, for no one wants to hear that. Instead, we allow readers to return to that place where they remember lives—all lives—are central to every story.

Cool, thanks for the writerly hug, Christina, and back at ya. I adore the analogy of turning the wolf and lion into the puppy or kitten. That’s the exact portal we should seek, both as writers and as readers. Thanks for a lovely comment! Enjoy autumn in Big Sky Country – I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous.

“Big Sky Perspective.” Ah, I just love that — that one will stay with me. You’ve touched on something here that I’ve always believed but never expressed in quite this way: our stories are more important and more powerful than our speeches. It’s why I don’t talk about big, personal, important, social things very often on “social media.” Because somehow, I just don’t think that’s the source of change. I think change comes from art, which is where I pour my own thoughts and idea out, in the form of stories. Lovely post, Vaughn.

Hi Annie, I’m with you – skeptical about social media as a source of change. And I’m like you – hoping to pour the best of my worldview into the stories, looking for that connectivity. Thanks for sharing your insights, and for sharing the post!

You hit the nail on the head. I’ve been finding myself down lately too, and it definitely has to do with the world at large. Personally, things are going great for me, but I’m incredibly concerned about this election cycle and what the outcome is going to do to our world. It’s at the point where I feel like I need to stay off social media, but ignoring problems doesn’t make them go away. But fiction provides such solace, and being the person who creates the fiction is one of the things that keeps me going.

And thank you for that very satisfying explanation on why I’m so thin-skinned :)

Hey Mary Kate, I’m fretful about the way things are going, too. And you make a good point – ignoring the problem is no solution. I think it’s all about finding balance and maintaining perspective. Seeking and providing solace can only be healthy, right? And better still that it fuels your perseverance for your creative journey.

As for the thin skin explanation, thanks go to the boss. Therese really is so much more than our editor-in-chief. She’s a source of wisdom, and the heart and soul of WU.

Thanks, Vaughn for this article. It nurtured my purpose as a writer, storyteller and shaman.

I create Story Journeys –experiences where people can enter the story to use it as a blueprint or adventure for their own transformation. Shamans, like storytellers, understand that perception creates our world and that true magic is a change of perception that changes how you see and therefore how you respond to the world, eventually transforming both you and the world.

Because of all the things you said here about the power of story, I created Story Alchemy(tm), a system that allows readers to use my stories (that I embed with shamanic insights) as true life quests. In my experience the boundaries between fiction and reality are breaking down as we realize that our reality is just a story someone told us or we told ourselves and assume the agency to rewrite our lives to tell the story of our dreams and potential.

Your article made me smile and brought light to my heart, renewing this mission and the faith that I have –like you– that we writers and storytellers see the bigger, better picture and can move our audiences and readers to believe, experience and grow towards the best in themselves.

Wow, cool! I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a comment from a shaman before. I’m honored. And what a cool concept!

And this is just awesome: “In my experience the boundaries between fiction and reality are breaking down as we realize that our reality is just a story someone told us or we told ourselves and assume the agency to rewrite our lives to tell the story of our dreams and potential.” It’s so… shamanistic. :-)

I’m so glad that the piece resonated, and your comment made my day brighter. Here’s to growing towards the best in ourselves, and inspiring the same in our readers!

Good post! I took two things from it. One, stories have always helped me through tough times. That’s just how I deal with things. I can’t tell you how many times it’s been a healing grace to be able to escape into a story! And two, when I think of the Big Sky perspective, I think about my journey in writing. It can be so hard but I try to focus on my goal. Like Frodo! (Yes, I’m going there.)

He kept slogging his way to Mordor even though he was miserable, because he knew it had to be done. He was looking at the big picture.

But most of the time writing is a joy like elevenses and second breakfast! Good post, Vaughn. I raise my pint of Barliman’s Best to you.

Hey Val, I love that definition of Big Sky Perspective, and it’s so needed for this journey. It does feel like a slog sometimes, doesn’t it? But, like Frodo, we are not alone in our quest. Friends like you help me to maintain my big picture perspective, and I’m grateful.

Excellent addition to the conversation. And just in time for a visit to the Green Dragon. I raise my pint in return salute. Cheers, Val!

This post is a prime example of why I was talking to a friend about you just yesterday, V.

We also talked a bit about the strange and magical level of compassion and fearlessness writers must possess. Perhaps it’s something in the literary waters these days?

I had to take a step back from social media politics and ideology when I realized anger and frustration were permeating every aspect of my life, including my writing. That I was losing some of that compassion in a big wave of holy-hell-what-is-happening-to-the-world.

My oldest clarified a few things for me when she came to me and said, “The world is full of bad people and it sucks.”

I knew then I had to step back and offer her an alternative view. I found myself using the Mr. Rogers quote about looking for the helpers and how, even in the chaos of my life and personal history, there were always helpers. There was always someone who reached out to me and offered a little light. I told her it’s that little light that really matters, and a huge part of our job here is to provide that light whenever and however we can.

I knew then something I knew before but had conveniently forgotten: many times those little lights from a friend came in the stories I read. That’s why I wanted to be a writer. Even during the long nights of the soul, I believe in that light in my heart and soul.

I’m working on not only taking that to the page, but offering it up in my life as well. I know from experience a few moments of kindness, hokey as it may sound, goes a long way. And that’s a reason I could never be ironic. I secretly treasure that part of me that believes in joy, vulnerability, and authentic empathy. There. Now that’s out in the open. That puts me soundly in the pleasant camp, and I’m good with that.

I think we’ve talked about it before, but isn’t this level of synchronicity sort of wonderful? I feel like the Universe is reminding a whole bunch of us of its infinite capacity for love. Now to remember that in light of whatever appears on the screen during tonight’s newscast.

Ah, what a lovely comment. Talk about a willingness to share and a depth of empathy and compassion! You’re an exemplar of these attributes, Tonia, and it’s what ensures me (and should ensure you, too) that you’re going to have a long and successful career as a writer.

Isn’t it funny, how we need to be reminded of the power of story, again and again? When really, those cherished friends are right there, with us all of the time. After all, the stories that showed us the way to the light are a part of us. They’re not just part of the reason we do this, but they help to define how we do this.

I’m so glad that the gears of synchronicity are lining up for you right now. The timing couldn’t be more perfect (right before UnCon). Here’s to reminding one another of the Universe’s capacity for love – particularly when we need it most.

I needed a dose of Big Sky Perspective today–thank you, Vaughn! In particular, it was so helpful to remember that others are wrestling with the same challenge of balance: staying informed/engaged, but also stepping away to preserve focus, energy, inspiration. It’s easy to forget I’m not the only one seeking that balance, even if I know–thanks in no small part to WU–that it isn’t true.

So, back to the work tomorrow morning, getting back in touch with focus and the story. :-)

Oh yes–this isn’t a book from my youth that influenced me, but I just finished rereading The Night Circus for the WU Book Dissection this week, and I was struck yet again by the key role the reveurs (who are really readers as much as devotees of the circus) play in the story and its resolution. It’s such a love letter to the power of story (circus) and the need for both the storyteller/magician and the listener/reader. Communion indeed!

That does it. I’m reading The Night Circus. I can’t tell you how many trusted friends have recommended it/said it’s a fave. I’m downloading right now. Hang on a sec, I’ll be right back.

Okay, done. Thanks for being that final straw, Alisha. And thanks for realizing (same as I have) that we aren’t alone, and that we depend on each other for the occasional reminder of how important our work really is (the best part of social media/community connection). See? Balance. And communion. Wonderful comment, Alisha. :-) Have a great week.

Such a great post, Vaughn. I find whenever I spend too much time online or alone in my head, the world seems gray and dark. I’ve almost entirely cut out social media this summer, and it has made a huge difference in how I view the world. But I do miss my online friends!

As for stories that influenced me, I think we share many of the same favorites. The Lord of The Rings and the Crystal Cave series in particular shaped my world view. There may be dark times, but they are our times, and what we will do with them remains to be seen.

I had a day not too long ago that was full of world anxiety for me, and I picked up a pencil and paper and committed to working through a piece of short fiction that I’d begun. Phew. It saved both my mood and the day, and reminded me why I write: to digest all of that stuff, even if what I’ve digested isn’t (re)interpreted on the page. Meaning: For me, writing is what I imagine hitting a punching bag after a hard day is like for a fitness buff with a punching bag! I’m glad I can process stress and create art at the same time. All that said? I’ll be so damned glad once this election is over.

Hey T, Writing this essay was, for me, a lot of sorting of undigested angst. I LOVE your punching bag analogy, and I’m super glad you’re slugging away some of that anxiety. My manuscripts are definitely my “heavy bags.” You know, the type on which you practice body blows. I think essays are probably more like speed bags, where you have to find your rhythm then rattle it out in a syncopated burst. Still satisfying, but not wholly purgative. ;-)

I’m with you on getting beyond November. However things go, it’ll be cathartic to be in Salem, together with our tribe. Very much looking forward to it. Thanks for this comment, and for the honor of the opportunity to be here.

I’ve been vacillating between anger and despondency lately when it comes to anything involving the election, which is the vast majority of what I see on social media these days. So much fury and hatred and fear out there. It’s hard not to internalize it and give in to the anxiety.

The time I spend in another century (in my writing) is the balm to my nerves, but I’m finding that the uncertainty of these times is bleeding through onto the page. Not sure yet whether this is a good thing. :-/

Hey Kim, I’m glad being your historical story world is a balm. I’m not sure the uncertainty can be a bad thing. I was just reading about the history of the KKK in Michigan in the 1920s, and a lot of the rhetoric echos with great familiarity. In other words, there is always uncertainty, and there are always dark forces to be kept at bay.

Hang in there, Kim! Your story matters. Can’t wait to buy and reread it. :-) Thanks for contributing to the conversation!

What a positive way to start the week! I love the way you push us to recall why we do what we do. You reminded me of something I wrote in a blog post a while ago:

Fiction can be entertaining and escapist, but where it really shines is when it opens our minds and our hearts and enables us to see the world from within someone else’s skin. Undertaking this journey is the most honorable motivation for our becoming writers and readers and thus makes heroes of us all.

Wise words. I’m with you, Barbara. I’ve struggled with how self-centered and even frivolous attempting to write for publication can sometimes seem. But I’ve come to see the honor in it, as well. Thanks for sharing a bit of your wisdom, Barbara, as you so often do here. It’s much appreciated!

Enjoyed this post so much! I started to comment last night, but after a day of working on three different writing projects, I couldn’t seem to manage another coherent sentence, so will try again.

For me, storytelling has always been about validating individuality. We experience life as individuals, not as a group, or even as a member of a group. Our groups (gender, family, racial, ethnic, religious, national, geographic, occupational, political, economic, educational, etc.) make-up part of our individual experience, but no two individuals experience life in exactly the same way, regardless of how much they may have in common. At this very moment there are 7.4 billion people experiencing life on this planet, and each experience is unique, with one exception: we’re each experiencing life as a human being. I think our individuality is the essence, the defining characteristic, of humanity. It is only by understanding and appreciating the uniqueness of each individual that we can experience the humanity that we share, and I think stories help us do that.

About a year-and-a-half ago, my then 11 year old granddaughter played the part of JoJo in “Seussical, the Musical”. When her sweet, young voice began singing “Alone in the Universe”—well, I wasn’t the only one brushing away tears. And, who hasn’t, at some time, felt all alone in the universe? I was so struck by that simple song that when I got home I looked up the lyrics. I printed out the last two lines and taped them to the bookshelf next to my desk: (Horton) You called my name and you set me free One small voice in the universe (JoJo) One true friend in the universe (Both) Who believes in me.

I believe that this is what all 7.4 billion of us want: to have someone hear our one small voice, and who believes in us, in our experience of life, even if they don’t understand it. Storytellers are humanity’s ears; they hear the lone, small voices, and they believe in them, in the reality (if not the morality) of each unique experience. In a way, storytellers might be humanity’s ‘one true friend in the universe’ each time they validate one unique experience by sharing it with the rest of us.

I’m so touched by this comment (and I’m sorry for the delay in responding). I hadn’t considered the uniqueness angle, which I think is so astute. We share that sense of wonder in our writer/reader communion. As a reader I marvel at the courage, the cleverness, the empathy and the devotion of characters on the page. But even in the uniqueness there is always that common bond. We are shown, again and again, that no matter how unique we all are, we are not so different. We are all human.

You have the song lyrics pinned up in your office, but I think I’m going to pin up your wise closing in mine:

“Storytellers are humanity’s ears; they hear the lone, small voices, and they believe in them, in the reality (if not the morality) of each unique experience. In a way, storytellers might be humanity’s ‘one true friend in the universe’ each time they validate one unique experience by sharing it with the rest of us.”

As a former small book store owner, Porter Anderson got me sidetracked this morning, but I did want to acknowledge your comment before I disconnect from the internet today (my comment on Porter’s post will have to wait until tonight or tomorrow morning).

I hardly know what to say–thank you seems such an inadequate response for your kind compliment, but I do thank you.

What else can I say? You just validated my experience as a novice storyteller–you heard my voice, and I’m grateful.

I’m sorry I didn’t get around to reading this until today. What a powerful reminder about keeping events in the world-at-large in perspective, and using one’s writing as a force for positive change. I really connected with your words and sentiment.

The “Big Sky” view is one of the things I’m working diligently at infusing my own trilogy with. The tricky part, as you allude to, is giving readers the questions rather than sermonizing for them. And that is the power of fiction, isn’t it? Exploring vital themes through characters we’ve created from the ether.

It’s this philosophy that has convinced me to create characters who I can look up to. Who behave in ways that I like to think I would behave (but who knows?) when the world falls apart around them. Are they perfect? No, of course not. But they are people who believe in being good for the sake of being good. Captain America (without the special powers and shield), Hermione Granger, Katniss Everdeen, Yoda, Gandhi. These types of characters (both real and fictional) take many forms, and can teach us how to be better human beings.

Hey Matt – I love what you’re saying here about the nature of goodness. The characters and personalities you list have one thing in common: they give of themselves for others. Without a thought for what’s in it for them. Of course *all* humans have selfish moments and motivations, but heroes like these show their selflessness when it matters most. Which is something all of us admire. The fact that we are still drawn to heroes like these gives me hope, even when things seem otherwise bleak.

Thanks for a great addition to the conversation. Keep striving! Your diligence is sure to pay off.

Your point on writers being more bothered by the events of the world is so true and something I’ve struggled with but haven’t been able to identify until reading your post. It makes perfect sense and agree that it is the duty of writers to experience life fully in order to properly connect with our readers. “After all, times like these are when stories are needed the most.” How true.

The stories that have left me changed are always those where the author was able to describe the truth of something – a death, a birth, a crowd, an emotion – so perfectly that I know they write from experience and it pulls me in even deeper. Patrick Rothfuss has done this many times in his books for me. I am constantly nodding and saying “that’s what it feels like,” so that when he gets to other things I haven’t experienced, I believe him. I think the goal of a writer is to bring the reader in from where they are and get them asking new questions from there. Books that can do that stay with me long after I begrudgingly finish the last page.

You also did this for me in the first part of your article – defining something I’m feeling when I haven’t been able to do it myself will get me every time and is the balance I try to strike in my own writing. Well written and thank you!

Hi CJ, I feel exactly the same about Rothfuss (I’m a huge fan!). There’s something so familiar and yet deliciously exotic about his characters and settings. That’s such a great example of the kind of connectivity I think it behooves us as writers to aspire to.

Thanks so much for your kind praise, and for the great addition to the conversation. Here’s to striking the balance!